A Sea of Poppies
by Nagasasu
Summary: A collection of Seth/Eirika one-shots. Five: Come As You Are.  That she is born female does nothing to dissuade her father.  So, she is named Seth.  Woman!Seth.
1. A Sea of Poppies

Title: A Sea of Poppies  
Word Count: 1334  
Summary: She asks to see the wound in the sunlight, the moonlight, and in a time that is neither quite sunset nor sunrise.

Started: June 16, 2009  
Completed: February 6, 2010  
Last Edited: September 8, 2010 for formatting issues  
Posted: February 7, 2010 on LJ, March 17, 2010 on FF.n

Author's Note: Hello all, here is the new one-shot collection I promised all of you. Updates will be slow, but I suppose you're all used to that now. Thank you to you, my readers, for sticking with me this long. To new readers, I hope this doesn't scare you off like my earlier stuff probably does, haha. A table of contents for this will be posted on my LJ and linked to my FF.n profile when the next chapter comes out.

Written for fe_contest; prompt #2, wounds. The second and third parts were written to Vienna Teng's Gravity and St. Stephen's Cross, respectively. The last line is derived from St. Stephen's Cross. Some dialogue taken from the Level C Support. Am slightly worried about OOC. Also apologies if the tone doesn't match; the first part was written a good while before the rest.

* * *

She asks to see the wound, and the noonday sun is hot around them. Its heat presses down his armor and through his sticky skin.

His weight shifts to his right foot with a creak of leather, and his hand touches his side instinctually.

"My lady…"

"Seth, please. I must know, if only for my own peace of mind; it sets me ill at ease to know you are hurt because I – "

"My lady, please. I am a General, a _knight_; this wound is both my duty and my honor. Please, let it be."

Her hand is half-extended, the fingers graceful in their motion just as they are gripping their blade – they're beautiful even when they're slicked with blood, and his pride flutters in his chest at how well she's learned from him. Her eyes are liquid; the color, the way the light wavers on them – now it is his fatigue beleaguering him, because eyes don't ripple like water. Regardless, his fingers press against the edges of the wound; there is no doubt it will leave a remarkable scar. The expression of her eyes is something he's never been quite able to say no to in the short span of their meetings.

He relents, and she sees it in his eyes, because then she is taking the last few steps towards him and reaching for buckles and snaps to undo to raise his shirt. He takes her wrist though; although they are alone at the moment, knowing they are in the light makes all the difference and he will not expose her to… There is impropriety in seeing him in a state of undress, but he knows she will not stop her persistent pleas, and that her eyes won't halt their persuasion. So instead, he slides her hand under his shirt.

He carefully watches her face, not quite sure if this is any better than seeing him unclothed. She is shocked, her mouth round with surprise and her eyes wide. He tries very hard to ignore her fingertips as he brings it to the wound.

He releases her wrist, and asks, "Is this enough to satiate your curiosity, my lady?"

Her hand slides away quickly and returns to her side where she rubs it with her free hand. " – Yes, I apologize for… I mean, I didn't mean for you to –" Her face slowly turns red.

"I am at your command, and if it pleases you to ask this of me, I shall gladly do so. There is no need to apologize."

* * *

When she first asks to see the wound, it is night, and the sliver of the moon hangs in suspension between the trees. He is ready to retire to bed, and she catches him in that small moment where all the camp is silent and nothing moves but the land around them.

She asks him how he fares. He replies he wishes to have served her better; his lance arm is fine despite the wound.

"Show it to me," she says.

Perhaps because it is late, and he is so tired, and her request so earnest, he raises the hem of his shirt. At the edges of the wound, he is aware how very cold the air is. She moves closer and he is surprised and embarrassed to notice how warm her breath is as she leans in to peer closely in the darkness.

"It has not fully healed."

He hears the creak of her armor and her hand reaches out to touch him. He grasps blindly at words to distract himself and to stop her fingers. "What," he whispers, and he doesn't know what to think of how breathless he sounds, "makes you think of this, my lady?" Dull pain travels down his neck as he strains to look down at her.

Her hand retreats, and her back straightens to gaze almost evenly at him. "Your fighting is as superb as ever, Seth. But when you raise your lance, I see a flicker of pain on your face, as if you were merely enduring it… But it only lasts a moment. Perhaps is all just my imagination." Her eyes question, almost dare, him to tell her she is just imagining this phantom pain.

He assures her he is fine.

She continues to unravel him. "Without you," she says, "I may not be able to continue this quest."

That she would beg this of him, that perhaps she needed _him_… That was a dangerous path to let his mind tread.

"You praise me too much, my lady…"

The words hang in the air, and it is silent except for the quiet rustling of the woods.

He looks to her for a dismissal, but instead she says just a little wistfully, "Ephraim used to kiss my wounds when we were little to help them heal."

He cannot, and in truth, does not want to, read what lies in her eyes. He is about to ask to take his leave, when her face takes on a queer expression, as if she isn't quite sure of herself or her words.

"Ah, I apologize, Seth. I do not know why I said that." Perhaps she does not know, but he can see how devastating she will be when she is older.

She nods, bids him goodnight, and turns in the direction of her own tent.

He is left alone in the wood, and he wishes her hand had bridged that small distance between them.

He endeavors, afterwards, to overcome the pain of his wound.

* * *

The third time she asks him about the wound is after the war has ended. The sky is at the point where the dark of the sea melts into a sea of poppies. The sun is low on the horizon and the moon lies opposite it, a ring of rainbowed light surrounding it; one sinks into and the other rises above the hills.

They are in the outskirts of Renais, and but a day's ride away from the capital. The past few days are a blur of celebrations, and mournful screams for the dead. This is the first moment of peace he has found.

He comes across her, her feet bare on the shore of the lake. Her cloak is on the sand, and her armor carefully placed over it; her rapier still hangs at her side.

He hears her speak his name over the gentle rush of wind and lapping waves.

"In these past weeks, I have given thought to your words. And I think, that if I have learned anything – " There is something new in her voice, as if she has fought herself only to find something greater instead.

She turns quickly and crosses the distance between them.

"Seth, how fares your wound?"

His forehead furrows. "It is as it was the last time you asked, my lady."

She takes his hand, and he is so startled by the intimacy of it, he can neither withdraw his hand nor grasp hers. He hears her take a large breath, and she slips his hand beneath her blouse.

He tries to step back, but her grip is strong. He protests. "There is a wound here." She winces as she presses his hand against her side. "And it will scar."

He does not know what to make of this moment; he doesn't ever know what to think when he is alone with her.

"My lady…"

"What I feel is not improper, and what you told me is true, but I have seen in this war what lies before me should I listen to you. And I think that you do too."

She releases his hand and leans up towards him. "You and I," she continues, "are not that different at all."

Looking up at him, she is so close to him now. He closes the last few steps between them, his feet sinking into the wet earth, and despite how cold it is, her breathing is warm against his mouth.


	2. Spirited Child

Title: Spirited Child  
Rating: K/PG  
Summary: Eirika finds a fairie ring, a meeting ensues.  
Word Count: 1501

Started: -  
Completed: May 7, 2010  
Posted: May 11, 2010 on LJ, and September 8, 2010 on FF.n  
Last Edited: September 8, 2010

Author's Note: This is totally historically inaccurate and contains shallow interpretation of Celtic/Irish mythology. I'm also indecisive where to set this, whether in an AU Magvel, or in the UK. I'm kinda eh about this; would also have liked to work in more description, but I'll just consider this practice at writing non-introspective stuff. Written for prompt 5, spirit, at fe_contest on LJ. Oh, inspiration goes to Malinda Lo's Ash and _Spirited Away_. And as always, reviews, and concrit, is always appreciated.

* * *

As much as Carcino was loath to admit it, it was quite apparent that Carcino was a territory very much run by its myths and superstitions. While its metropolis buzzed with science and balances and numbers, its countryside still believed in a spry, beautiful people who stole children.

Eirika, young at the time, was on her way to an apprenticeship at the nearby province. Her father wanted her to learn how to manage other estates. And learn her figures and how to drive a hard bargain; her brother was too preoccupied with one day sailing off into unknown battles – to make a difference, he would say – never mind he didn't even know how to rightly use his lance. It seemed the logical choice then, that Eirika would be the intellect and Ephraim the strong arm when Ephraim took over their territory.

As Eirika passed through the countryside, her guards were murmuring to themselves, the unease palatable. She tried to shift in her saddle, but each time she almost lost her seat. She'd hate to be the cause of staying an extra night on this road that left the men so hasty to leave. Moulder, by virtue being the eldest of the group, seemed most likely to know why.

She tugged his coarse linen sleeve and asked.

He scratched his moustache and then replied, "The fairie people are believed to live here, and they are known to steal men and women for their pleasure and leisure." She didn't understand what was so scary about that, but she knew that when Moulder continually pet his upper lip, he was too deep in thought to be further bothered.

Amelia, a squire, piped in, "We have every right to be frightened! Seth disappeared here on his way to Carcino for his apprenticeship! And when Kyle passed through here last, he asked, and the villagers said he'd been spirited by the fairie! I keep having nightmares where he drips blood as red as his hair." She shook her head and shuddered. She received a sharp blow from someone's elbow, jolting her from her misery.

"Don't tell her the rest; she's too young to know what they do to those they capture." Although the new voice was a low murmur not meant for her ears, Eirika still heard. She remembered those stories though; they always had bad endings.

Amelia trotted ahead quickly.

Regardless of these fears though, they camped for the night on the dusty road. After they'd pitched their tents and made fires and set a watch, Eirika heard music. There were delicate bells, a tambourine rapping sharply, and some lovely lute plucking. She slipped out from between Vanessa and Natasha, Moulder's apprentice. The stars were clear and the night endless; the air was cold as she gulped in breaths. She followed the music, over the stumps, through puddles, and beneath branches to find an empty ring surrounded by white flowers.

There were people there, dancing just as she thought there'd be; who couldn't dance with such music? The tables and setting were higher than she was, and there were drinks spilling over the edges, dripping off the blades of grass, or onto smooth pebbles. She made her way below the tables, dodging the feet and occasional paw and hoof. She laughed, and was then grabbed from the collar of her dress.

"What have we here?" The voice sounded like thunder, and when she craned her neck to see, she couldn't tell if the person was a man or woman; all strong lines but too beautiful with hair like water sparkling in summer. She saw other people at the table licking their lips and picking up forks while looking at her. She began to struggle and kick and even to bite, but her kicks amounted to nothing against the hard flesh and her bites only left her jaw sore from snapping her teeth together.

Another voice. "Should we make her dance?"

"Or should we keep her?"

A much less intimidating voice spoke up; with all the rumbling voices, this one sounded like wind through the grass. "Milady, I think your husband has found a new nymph to play with."

The large hand holding her began to shake and rattle her about. As her captor began to speak, she felt the vibrations up her spine. "That lying _cur_, I told him that I would cut off his head if he did that again – "

Eirika was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, banging her knee against the chair, and her head against the floor as the woman galloped off. Dazed by the fall, she tried to collect herself, but someone the same height as her, or at least someone with hands her size, had already grabbed her arm, pulled her up, and begun to drag her off. They passed tables where people their size sat, and past couples making loud moans against trees and earth. With the world still blurry from her fall, all she could make out of him was the red smear of his hair.

At last, he turned and asked, "What are you doing here?" His voice was filled with the same kind of concern she'd learned to expect from Ephraim when he spoke to Tana. Even among the loud shouts and groans, his voice still sounded so quiet.

"I heard the music," she said.

Her vision stopped spinning, and she could make out the boy she faced at last. He was taller than her – but not as tall as the table-goers – and his voice cracked over every other word. He was dressed finely though, in velvet and pearls; his sword however, looked unremarkable and was ill fit.

He looked expectantly at her, and then realized she had no more to say. He tried to persuade her – to do what, she didn't know, "Lady Eirika, you shouldn't be here." His voice was low and urgent.

"But aren't parties for everyone? Except for the bubby drinks."

His eyes widened, and he grabbed her shoulders tightly. "Did you drink or eat anything?"

She shook her head adamantly, her untied hair flinging across her face.

"We have to go," he said. "Get on."

She would have asked, "On what?" but she saw there were now reins in the boy's hand, leading up to a horse pale as moonlight. He mounted quickly and then extended his hand. She grabbed on, and he swung her so she was in front of him. He wrapped one arm around her stomach and looped the reins around his other. She felt his thighs clench, and the horse sprinted off into the night.

The forest rushed by her in a blur; the wind moved so quickly it was hard to breathe. It was a strange feeling, the world still and moving simultaneously, time stretching out like a cat on the windowsill. The moment stopped eventually, and she was slid gently off the saddle.

"Go," he said, looking forward to where her camp was and voices calling her name were.

She knew that in books ladies always gave knights something; her ribbon for her hair was by her bedside, and she had nothing to offer but her nightgown. Wait. She rolled the bracelet off her left hand. Her father had given it to her and her brother for their last birthday; it bore the family crest.

Still winded by the ride, she held it out to him, pushing it toward him with both hands. He eyed it, as if uncertain what it was and what to do with it, but he took it anyway, and hid it beneath his shirt. He had to have a secret pocket there, she thought.

"Thank you." She hadn't thought she'd needed saving, but she knew it was only right to thank him.

He acknowledged her with another, "Go."

This time she did.

She raced back to the voices calling her name, rocks sharp against her feet, and vines tripping her at the knees. She bumped into General Garcia's thighs, and he swept her up in his big arms. "Where have you been?"

"I was in the forest! There was music, and a boy, and he told me to leave; he knew my name too! And then we rode back here and he's right - " She swung her head around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She was struck with an idea. "Hey, Garcia, do you think it's the boy Amelia was talking about? His hair was as red as blood, and he didn't belong and – " Garcia shushed her quickly and herded her back to her tent. The noise of the camp quieted down, and she was carried to bed, tucked safely between Vanessa and Natasha, both of whom had been given stern reprimands for letting her escape.

Late into the night though, she thought of the boy, and when they left in the morning, she spared one last look at the forest, still dark, and whispered into the grass, "I'll come back for you, I promise."


	3. Reverse  Rebirth

Disclaimer: Fire Emblem does not belong to me.

Reverse / Rebirth. A reversal of roles: He is the prince, and she is his knight. (Post-game) AU.

Posted: May 3, 2011  
Last Edited: May 3, 2011

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating my Seth/Eirika collections for over a year! While, this could go under _Stardust_, and was originally going to be much longer, I think the first two scenes stand fine as they are. That, and I am fond of this plot bunny.

This was written around 2007; the title is a reference to Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories and is the working title that stuck. A great deal of inspiration was taken from zeh wulf's Rurouni Kenshin fanfic, _In These Final Hours_. As a side note, Ephraim's unrequited love was originally Myrrh, and I imagine Eirika is off to Caer Pelyn now.

* * *

"My Prince?"

"Ah, Miss Eirika."

"Forde told me you wished to see me?"

"I did. I was wondering how you were feeling after yesterday's spar; I'm really sorry about that, I had not meant to. . . Forgive me, I lost control and that is unacceptable."

"Prince Seth, how many times have I told you to just call me by my name: Eirika," she replied peevishly. "There is no reason for you to be calling me by such a title."

"Would you prefer Milady Eirika?"

"Prince Seth!" she cried.

He laughed heartily, "Oh Miss Eirika, I do love," but he couldn't finish as he clutched his sides as he doubled over once more.

Eirika glared at him, not finding it quite as funny as the Prince did. She waited for the Prince to finish his laughing and politely dismiss her. She then noticed that the Prince was no longer clutching his sides in amusement, and that there was a slight twitch in his left arm.

She hurried over to Prince Seth's side and pushed aside his arms despite his protests.

"Miss Eirika, honestly, I'm fine—"

She cut him off sharply, "No, you are not fine Seth, move your hands _now_ so I may see if you're fine or not."

He reluctantly let her hands pull up his shirt and reveal the long, red scar on his side. She knelt to get a better look and started to search it with her hands. "Really, Miss Eirika, it's fine, besides, how many princes can say they got such a fine scar protecting such a lovely lady."

She knew he'd be smiling. "Don't joke Seth, there aren't many Princes as stupid as you. By the Stones, you got that wound protecting the knight who _was _supposed to be protecting _you_. Do you know how much ribbing I'm getting because the Prince ended up protecting _me_?"

"That was certainly not my intent. . . "

"I know it wasn't," she said still kneeling, now looking up to his face. "But you should have let me take the blow for you, my lord, that's what I am here for."

"But—"

"There are no buts, my Prince," she said gently as she rose. "You are a Prince, a future King, and I am your servant devoted to your safety. You cannot risk your life for one such as I; risk your life for your kingdom. You cannot favor a single soldier such as I over the others; it harbors resentment and blinds you. I will take no part in such a thing my Prince."

"Eirika. . ."

She looked off, past him, past these walls, and remembered cold air, how heavy her breaths were and how very much she – "Although, I will admit, it is a nice dream, to continue riding on forever carrying you in my arms." She paused. "But this is the end of such a dream, it is. . . nothing more."

x x x

"Eirka, oh Eirika, you're crying now."

"Ephraim, oh Ephraim!" She sobbed, fisting his shirt in her palms, clawing at his chest. "Ephraim, I can't do this anymore! I simply cannot!"

"Shh, shh, it's alright Eirika. . ."

"No, it's not!" she screamed. She wanted to scream until her voice gave out. She wanted everyone to know, to no longer hide her heart in the shadows.

She started babbling, "I can't even protect him, I should have taken that wound from Valter again, but I didn't, he took it for me! I cannot bear this any longer Ephraim, I thought that I could be happy with just protecting him, but. . ."

"Oh, my sister, I cannot help you now." His arms pressed her even closer to him, his hands now rubbing circles on her back because she wouldn't be able to bear anyone touching her face, not after Prince Seth had.

"I need to leave Ephraim," she murmured, her breathing calming.

". . .I understand."

"I don't know what I want anymore. . . "

"The knights won't mind, Eirika, they'll understand."

She laughed weakly, "Yes, they understand. They knew even before I did I was in love with him!"

He smiled, "Not everyone is as, ah, assuming as Forde." He looked down at her, and brushed her hair back, "Do you want to go?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice wavering, "I need to leave this place. I've been dreaming, and now I can. . . I've woken up. There is no place for me here."

"Oh, sister-mine, there will always be a place for you here."

"No, Ephraim, there isn't. You saw Lyon in the end, but you did not see Orson. Do not ask that of me, Ephraim. I have set it aside for years, since I was a child. But my childhood infatuation became something more, and we are both oblivious to these things; he torments me with his kindness."

"Eirika. . . I understand."

She was quiet for a time, "I had forgotten, Ephraim, forgive me. . ."

"I did not love him, sister."

She smiled sadly at him, "So you say, but I am your sister and just as you know me better than myself, I know you better than yourself. We love the same way."

"You make us sound incestuous!" He laughed for her, but she knew better.

"I know better, Ephraim, deny it all you want, but you will always return to Castle Frelia when I am not looking."

He sighed, he gave in, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I will arrange for your leave, now."

"I'm sorry, Ephraim, that this is the way we must part."

"It's okay, sister, it's not like I won't come by to see you."

"I know."

But they both knew he would always go to visit Castle Frelia before he would visit her.

x x x

There were things Eirika would rather not remember. All soldiers had memories like those, the ones that never left them and were forever tied to their shadows. Walking down the empty, silent city surrounding the palace reminded her of them. Without the life and sound, the memories crept up on her.

She shook her head, hair falling free from her hood. Her memories were not so easily dismissed though.

"_Father! Father!"_

"_Go, Eirika, go! Warn the King!"_

It had been a quiet night like this, she recalled. She had been on leave to visit her father who lived near the outskirts of the town. General Fado had just recently retired from the army and both his children had been promoted to take his place. Eirika had thought it a good idea to see how retirement was suiting him; Ephraim was out on a recon mission near the Carcinian border.

_The faint snap of twigs, the sound of leather rubbing against itself. Eirika and her father looked at each other they both knew what was coming: an attack._

But what had surprised them was that it was Grado troops who stormed their small cottage, if her father had been a lesser warrior, Eirika would not have survived. But Fado had not lost his battle-edge and held of the troops and gave Eirika the precious time she needed to flee to warn the King of the attack.

_She smelled smoke. Her stomach sank and she knew that her home had just been set ablaze, and her father within. She ran faster, ignoring the need to cry. She had a job to do, and her father would not want her to look back and waste precious time._


	4. Risen

Disclaimer: Fire Emblem does not belong to me.

Risen. A steady hand and gentle heart brings both a man to his knees, and up from his knees.

**Author's Note**: Comments and concrit greatly appreciated. Written for fe_fest on Livejournal. Prompt: Seth/Eirika - a steady hand and a gentle heart. Inspired by the Latin lyrics in Origa's Inner Universe and this quote from Chapter 10 of **Aurette**'s fanfiction, _The Occluded Soul, _"…it was supposed to be done with love, my boy."

**Posted**: February 27, 2011 (LJ); May 29, 2011 (FF.n)

* * *

Seth stands apart, taking a moment to just watch – a rare moment as the battle continues to roar in his ears. The sheer intimacy of the moment he is witnessing leaves him feeling an outsider. He stays close enough to go in if needed though. This is war, and while his respect for his two charges, the fallen prince of Grado, and their odd friendship is a courtesy, he will not lose because of it.

It's a pocket of quiet wrapped about by the abounding chaos of the Demon King's rising monsters. Seth can see some of their new companions looking at the scene too as they finish each battle with a new monster.

Prince Lyon's magic, in the end, is no match for the twin's united front. The prince is almost done, and one good thrust or swing will take him down. It is Epharim's lance that brings him to his knees, and it is Eirika who moves in for the kill. There is a surge of pride at seeing someone he's taught excel at last. But his pride ebbs away and leaves behind something else.

Seth has seen battle before, seen many men's lives come to a close. He's seen life taken in greed, in anger, for the sake of a loved one who's life was in the balance or had already been lost. But he's never seen a life taken in love.

And that's what it is. With a steady hand and gentle heart, Eirika swings down the blade that brings Lyon's life to an end.

It is done with love, and he stands in awe.

* * *

_This is a woman. She wields justice as a sword in one hand, and the other holds her own slick heart. This is not the young girl he saw long ago, this is the spark he could not see blown to full flame._

_This is wonder, this is awe, this just might be love._

_But the world rushes back to him. He is a knight, and not even generals marry princesses; he's seen how this plays out and he must do something - _

_He is certain that one day he will not be able to hide these things, and that he will at last see if he is of the same mold as Carlyle and Lyon. But until then, he continues to set these feelings aside and places them within a circle of steel and iron._

_(the flight from Castle Renais, her body tight in his arms and the world before them; her eyes on his skin, the scar; watching her body move just so as he taught her the nuances of the sword; and her milky eyes and the sight of her childhood dreams of love dying at his words)_

* * *

He had thought he'd wiped any and all affection from her, save for the expected bonds of vassal and lord. Apparently he hasn't, because once more she is asking him to help her with her sword work.

"Your Highness…"

"Whatever is the problem? It's hardly practical for me to let all my hard-earned work go to waste, and it would be unbecoming of me to fence with the others."

"Surely one of the other knights, although certainly not a squire…"

"Ridiculous. Even I have some pride, General; if I could fight through a war, am I not deserving of being able to match blades with you once?"

They've never sparred together. She'd always fought phantom enemies when they were practicing. It had been a new experience learning how to shape her body without touching it. He'd been glad for the distance though.

He's not certain what possesses him to accept, perhaps it's her insistence, he's never been very good at denying her anything, or perhaps it's her calling him General. He's grown very weary of trying to hide things and put them away, and trying very hard, but failing, to forget.

And somehow he is so distracted, not only does her rapier point to his throat, but his own blade is kicked across the field. He tastes defeat and shame, both bitter.

He manages to make his niceties; congratulate the Princess, take the ribbing of the soldiers, and to make his way back to his room without it looking like a retreat.

He doesn't make it through the door though. He cannot make it through the threshold, and instead sinks to the floor, only the brick and mortar behind his back holding him up. He unbuckles his armor and sets it at his side. This is how she comes across him, her footsteps not rousing him to attention like they should. She stops in front of him, and when he looks up at the sight of her boots, her hand is extended to him.

He takes it, and it is with a steady hand and gentle hand that she lifts him to his feet.


	5. Come As You Are

_Started_: July 14, 2011  
_Completed_: July 31, 2011  
_Posted_: July 31, 2011  
_Last Edited_: August 4, 2011 (thanks amielleon)  
_Word Count_: 3273

_Summary_: That she is born female does not dissuade her father at all. So, she is named Seth.  
**Warnings**: references to rape, sexism, and homophobia

_Author's Note_: This is a result of the spectacular genderswap pieces in the _X-Men: First Class_ fandom on Livejournal. In particular, this piece is a result of the opening lines of waterpulse's "Bless the Broken Road," which can be found on Livejournal. This was also written while listening to Rebecca Loebe's cover of _Come As You Are _and with NewPaladin's encouragement_. _This is also cross-posted to the magvel community on Livejournal in its original formatting._  
_

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated considering the nature of this piece.

* * *

**i.**

His wife had lost their first child, and that their second is born female does not dissuade him at all. He has chosen this name and will not be moved from it; this is their child, and after many failed pregnancies that never came to be, he will not change this decision.

So, she is named Seth.

* * *

Her father is similarly unmoved when he decides his daughter will continue the long-standing family profession of knighthood. Seth's mother's fingers go white at the knuckles when her father makes the announcement over breakfast. Seth supposes her mother would've felt this way whether or not she'd been born a girl.

What she does know is that this means her mother will cease trying to match her up with the neighborhood boys who she's never been interested in.

She isn't quite right though. Her mother still laments her hair, how strapping her chest down would dampen her growth. She no longer _outright_ makes remarks about husbands, but Seth knows what she means.

* * *

She cuts her hair as a page and the prodding begins. They ask her why she would cut her long, long hair. She had never cut it before; it'd been her one concession to her mother.

_It's not practical_, she says. She is (always) already disadvantage by virtue of her gender, ropy muscle does not come easily to her, and learning to breathe with her chest bound is difficult.

(She is saving money so that when, not if, she makes it to knighthood, she can specially order Frelian armor made for women.)

_The Frelian pegasus knights wear their hair long_, they reply.

_Frelian knights_, _attack quickly from the air, and do not remain long enough on land_, is all she says.

So she cuts it as short as any of the other boys'. She does not need to draw attention to herself; being seen as different in the midst of battle would leave her dead, or worse, quicker than she could draw a sword or flee.

* * *

Things become complicated when she's celebrating her new squiredom with the others. They take her along to a brothel as a joke, not really expecting her to accept when they offer. She goes, despite her distaste, because if she doesn't she'll have that much more to prove.

The ale is sour and disgusting and she doesn't know how the others drink it by the mugfull. She sips it though, and watches as the boys grab at the women's breasts and slide their grimy hands up their skirts.

That they are attracted to women is not surprising to her. Rather, this is what surprises her: One of the establishment's women mistakes her for an older boy (one of the few benefits of her sex; she grows tall long before her peers, but this will last only a few short years). As the woman leans down to whisper in Seth's ear, Seth finds the soft skin of her neck and the strong scent of perfume infinitely more alluring than anything she can remember.

She clenches her thighs.

* * *

Her monthlies come, and it is with a mix of great embarrassment, and a refusal to be cowed by that, she goes to the healer and asks for rags.

* * *

The king's head knight dies protecting him. He hears of a hidden assassin and works in secret to defend the king and dies doing so. This was the knight who smiled at her once and showed her the trick to using lancereavers. She thinks him brave and wants to be like him: steadfast.

* * *

She learns the power her voice can have by watching the older squires when they're in charge of the pages. The strong voices are like rafts in the water. People would follow those voices, not the ones that were soft and polite. Soft and polite were voices for serving in court and nowhere else.

So when she is first put in charge of a small group of pages; she makes sure her voice does not break, and is loud, clear, and strong. The pages do not disobey her, and she is glad.

* * *

_Frigid aren't you?_ they say. _A good roll in the hay would fix that_. They offer, she refuses. Telling them she has no interest in men would do nothing to stop them.

She continues to work on her lance and swordwork until they will not stand a chance against her.

* * *

Seth doesn't believe in sex until marriage, but the odds of her marrying a woman are nonexistent, so with the aid of alcohol, she indulges. She is in charge of wrangling the squires at the brothel, and every single one of them has disappeared, so no one notices when she disappears as well.

She wakes the next morning sticky and sated.

_Who'd have thought_, her bedmate says, _that you had anything soft_, as she grabs Seth's breasts.

(Seth is unused to her breasts going unbound, the weight and swing of them are foreign to her; this body is as foreign as the northern oceans sometimes.)

Seth feels a bit sick, but reminds herself there will never be marriage for her. She kisses the woman on the cheek and leaves her coins on the table.

She returns to the barracks and when the boys cheer her for finding a whore (a man, they presume, there are such a thing), she pushes the nausea down until she reaches the safety of an empty room.

* * *

She will be a knight, and there will be nothing to be found wrong with her. If she holds duty close to her heart, there will be no reason they can give to her to dismiss or discharge her.

She will.

_She will._

* * *

She becomes a knight at last, and she will be damned if she gives up any of this after all the work she has done for these years of service.

* * *

**ii.**

_What is the most important thing to a knight?_ her father asked her.

She replied without effort. _Duty_. _ A knight's duty to their liege_.

He ruffled her hair affectionately.

_Don't forget_, he says, _a knight without his duty is not one at all; a knight can sacrifice honor, but never duty. Duty is what will make you a knight the king is proud to call his own._

Her mother's flour coated hands came to rest on his shoulder. _Don't forget_, she added, _duty isn't how you won me. _

He smiled at her, and Seth saw the warmth there.

* * *

She becomes a general. Although she is qualified, she is not sure if she's earned it or that this is a token nod to her sex.

She works even harder so there will be no doubt to others, and herself, that she deserves this position.

There will be no doubt she knows her duty and place as a knight.

_You don't know your place as a woman_, they say.

_What does that matter_, she replies, _when I am a knight_?

* * *

They call her the Silver Knight, and it is double-edged name. For although she earns it taking up a silver lance she is not supposed to have in defense of a lord, she is also already a general.

* * *

She suspects that her persistent encounters with the princess are because she is a woman, and not at risk for the folly of romance. She is called to escort the princess on more rounds than normal for other knights. The princess is quiet, much better suited to marriage than the rapier she trains with. She looks just like her brother, is probably why she keeps her hair so long.

The princess is rather what Seth expects a princess to be. They talk little.

* * *

She does not wear women's clothing anymore. She wore a dress to a formal dinner once. Remarks that had long been quiet resumed their whispered lives all over again.

_Why don't you wear dresses more often? You look quite pretty in them._

_You could find yourself a husband – or wench if that's what you prefer, you do have a pretty long lance there._

_If you grew your hair out you wouldn't look like a boy playing a woman._

_Forgot you had breasts there, General._

She wears military wear from then on to court and any requisite dinner. If she is out of duty, which is rare, she will go in trews with her chest still strapped down.

The years have taught her how to ignore the constant ache her peers' words bring, and how tightly to bind her breasts so that there is only the slightest hint of them when she is without armor.

* * *

They flee Castle Renais. The princess resists leaving with her, trying to escape her and return to her father. Seth wants to grab her face, but settles for her wrist.

_Look at me_, Seth says. _We must leave, lest both you and your father die, and then where will your brother be?_

The spark in the princess' eyes surprises her. _I will be there for my brother, _she says with a voice choked with tears, but that fire is there. _And if he is fallen too, I will rise to his place._

That she acknowledges her brother is likely dead gives Seth pause.

She offers her other hand, and the princess takes it. Seth pulls her up to the saddle.

Perhaps it is this fire that tempts her to ride far past Castle Frelia. That fire in her eyes will not last long in war.

* * *

When she was still a page, she was taken to witness battle on the Carcinian border. When they arrived, the village was smoking. Women's mud-caked dresses were pushed to their waists, and Seth could see their naked sex, the site of violation by the heavy force of a man. People were still fleeing, and only the women were dragged down by their hair to be raped; the men had their throat slit.

She vomits, she was not alone in this, but she was the only one who is asked if watching the women was too much for her.

She later learns this is a test to see who is fit for knighthood and who is not.

* * *

_Do it this way_, she tells the princess. Seth grasps the princess' wrist and turns it, adjusting her grip on the sword as well. _The way you're holding it now, it'll be knocked out easily_.

_You might want to cut your hair too_, Seth adds. She is tempted to grab it and use it to throw her to the ground in demonstration; that's what she'd do if she had a woman recruit, but there are none, and this is the princess. She keeps her hands firmly by her side instead.

The princess merely looks at her. _I must be recognizable to my people_, she plainly states.

Seth says nothing more, but there is begrudging respect where before there was only fealty.

* * *

Her lady barks out orders. Her strategy and rapier work grow steadily and firmly. While she will never be the strategist Prince Innes is, she is more than capable. More than what Seth believes a princess should and can be, and she admires her for it.

Seth begins to bow to her lady's judgment.

* * *

When her lady professes her love, Seth doesn't know what to do. Where a princess of all people would learn, or have the fortitude, to ask for another woman's favor is beyond her. This is not done.

Her lady walks away, and Seth murmurs to herself now that there is no one else is to hear.

_I wanted to take you far, far away._

There is rustling, and Seth realizes Eirika hasn't left as she thought. She can't find it in herself to care.

* * *

She is a knight. There is no room for things like romance, especially one with a woman, a princess, her liege. They will call her craven, claim she is led astray by her womanly feelings.

To admit to love is to admit some imaginable fallacy of her heart. _She is but a woman beneath the armor_, they will say. To love a woman, they will say, _I always knew she was too frigid for a man. _To love her lady, _And she is but weak down to her marrow._

She should be armor marked only by other swords from battle, not by rust from her own disregard.

* * *

The memory of Eirika's questing fingers caress her side like a ghost. The wound from Valter's lance is angry, the skin tight, and she is worried it will break if she fights too hard. And if it breaks, there is the risk of infection. But there is no other option.

She can't forget the feel of those fingers, and her own desire to grasp hold of the princess' hair for reasons that have nothing to do with lessons involving swords.

(This is a slightly open door she should not go through, a mountain on the other side that she should not climb.)

* * *

Sir Garcia reminds her of her father in some ways. As if this is what her father might've been like if he'd been more open of how much he loved his wife – or, if he'd loved his wife more than his liege.

_You should find a man, a lover, get married. It will do you good to have a family to go home to._

_A husband? _She isn't sure what makes her say this, but perhaps it's because she always wondered if her father would support her even in this. _You may be right, but it will take me some time to find a willing woman._

_Well,_ he says, _that works too. _

She lets out a breath she doesn't know she held.

* * *

_I did it for you, Monica._

_Eirika… I always loved you…_

_Ismaire, all I wanted was you –_

Words of love plague her along this war. If she keeps Eirika at bay and keeps duty close to heart, perhaps she will avoid love and all the trappings of it.

* * *

As much as she enjoys the time spent with Eirika, she has nothing more to teach her. She told her as much, but Eirika insisted on continuing to practice with her. Seth put a stop to this after the love confession.

Seth resumes the lessons after General Garcia's words and a good look inside of herself. Eirika warily accepts, and Seth promises herself she will never give her another reason to be wary of her.

* * *

As Eirika disarms her at last, she wonders if this feeling pumping in her veins is happiness.

* * *

Happiness, she realizes, is worth more than duty.

Sir Garcia smiles at her. _I knew you'd figure it out. Now I just gotta knock it into that small knight, Franz._

* * *

**iii.**

There is never a good time for love confessions, and Seth is not sure this is love. She is happy though, and that is enough for her.

She is beside Eirika as she buries Lyon, and standing behind her throne as Eirika is crowned Restoration Queen.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Eirika's smiles makes her world glow.

Forde thanks her once, _I finally got to paint it_.

_Paint what?_

_Her smile, General._

* * *

As Eirika begins to study diplomacy, Seth finds books for her. Eirika returns them to Seth's room, along with an item or two of her own. Soon enough, even her clothes are beginning to be folded alongside Seth's.

* * *

Their first kiss is in an empty hallway as Seth's escorting Eirika back to her chambers.

The torchlight makes her face gentle, and Eirika leans up on her tiptoes to seal her mouth against Seth's.

Seth forgets about everything but Eirika for a little, but after she murmurs, _I'm sorry, milady, that was not proper of me –_

_Oh Seth, _she says. _Right now it is _proper_ for you to make me as ridiculously happy as possible._

So Seth leans down and obliges.

* * *

When Seth tells Eirika she needs to continue to trim her nails, Seth realizes Eirika doesn't know as much about this as she thought.

Eirika asks why since she no longer needs to use her rapier daily. Seth turns all different shades of red as she attempts to muster the fortitude to explain the finer mechanics of loving a woman.

* * *

The people whisper behind their backs, she knows this. A woman general, a woman diplomat; they are strange and appropriate bedfellows for one another. But Seth now wakes up with Eirika curled into her side. She can feel Eirika's breathing against her ribs and her palm on the curve of her hip, and Seth's own blunt, short fingernails scrape along Eirika's scalp. For Seth, this is more than she ever hoped for.

* * *

_I won't grow it out_, she says as Eirika fingers the fringes of what remains of her hair.

_That's fine_, Eirika replies with a smile. _I'm not cutting mine to match yours._

* * *

There are rumors, and some scandal, as the rest of Eirika's belongings make their slow march to Seth's room.

The staff is wise enough to say nothing to their faces.

* * *

She has thought too little of her men. Nothing changes between her and them.

* * *

When they go out together, they are not overly affectionate. They do not kiss, they try not to let their eyes linger on each other, but they stand close together, and when they walk side by side, their hands are close enough to look like they're hand in hand.

They try not to make it too obvious, but everyone knows they're in love. There's no other way to explain the way they shine when they're together.

* * *

Eirika's words are always sincere. The marvel she has for Seth's body is genuine and contains none of the distaste she is used to.

Seth tells her things like, _Ilia does not sell their armor to outsiders_; _I begged, and in the end, I went to Frelia for my armor. _

Eirika doesn't laugh at her. Instead, she'll say things like, _Once, Ephraim and I would exchange places. Those were the only times Lyon ever kissed me._

* * *

After they make love, Eirika's fingertips trace the lines of Seth's body as Seth plays with Eirika's hair. Seth imagines Eirika is mapping her body. The heavy swing of her breasts, the empty spaces, the places that are not corded with muscles, Seth begins to chart these places with Eirika.

_You're discovering me, _Seth tells her.

Eirika shakes her head. _No, this is all your own doing_, and presses a kiss to her naval.

She is free, she is beautiful, she is all she ever wanted to be and more. Her father would have been proud.

_I suppose so_, Seth replies.

* * *

Seth enters their suite of rooms in only trews and an old shirt. Even here, she does not wear; that is no longer her, if it ever was. She does, however, leave the bandages from her chest neatly folded on the drawer outside their bedroom. She enters, feeling the movement of her hips – it is a straight-legged walk she has, not the bowed strut of a man – and the slight bounce of her breasts with each step.

Eirika is there in her silk nightgown reading in bed.

This is home, and the belonging that fills her chest is painfully sweet.

"I love you," Seth says, surprising herself. Eirika slides from the sheets, leaving her book face down against them, and crosses the room to presses a kiss to the corner of Seth's mouth.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Eirika's eyes are bright with laughter, and Seth brings her into her arms and holds her tightly, the press of their bodies welcome and familiar.


End file.
